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Triathlon – Why?
By Stic.
It’s the dead of winter. So why am I bothering you with yet
another email about my insane exploits? Certainly neither the powers
that be
nor I am crazy enough to start doing these in winter…
Right?
Foolish people. Never underestimate the power of Stic to find some
more thorough avenue of abusing my body. I have another story to tell.
A rather
interesting one.
When I last talked to a lot of you I had just gotten destroyed by
a mountain out in Nevada at the Xterra National Championship. I was
looking
forward
to a nice off-season of chips, Vanilla Coke, hockey and a couch.
But somewhere along the way something interrupted my solitude. I
still
am unsure of exactly how it happened…
A friend of mine, Bill Pflueger, the Xterra Regional Champ for the
50-55 age group, asked a simple question. I, in turn, gave him a
simple answer.
The conversation went something like this…
“ Uh, hey Stic. Want to do an adventure race in January?”
“
Uh. No Bill. You’re insane.”
“
Oh come on. It’ll be fun.”
“ No way Bill.”
“
Stic?! You’re perfect for it. It’s 100 miles, mostly on
a mountain bike.”
“ 100 miles?!! Have you been huffing chain lube again Bill? No way.”
“
Come on Stic... It’ll make a great email.”
“
Fine. I’ll do it.”
And just like that I had agreed to further insanity. The race was
the North Georgia Adventure Race – a 100 mile race composed
of roughly 50% mountain biking, 25% paddling and 25% running. It
was a 30 hour race,
the first winter race in Georgia. The premise is based on a team
of three (or two) doing all the events together and finishing together.
NGAR also
required 100% navigation. A series of checkpoints would be set up
and you would be required to find them, one at a time. And all of
this would
occur in the dead of winter, in the mountains of North Georgia.
The race was a supported race, meaning that someone would be carrying
our bikes when we weren’t biking. Carrying our canoe when we weren’t
paddling. And cooking us warm food to allow us to go for 30 hours straight.
This person ended up being Bill’s girlfriend Alisa, and you’ll
hear more on her later.
Way to go Stic. You actually found something that required a higher
level of insanity.
So this was all last October.
Ahhh. October. A time of blissful ignorance. I didn’t even have
a bike at the time. The bike company that shipped my bike back from Tahoe
made the idiotic mistake of simply throwing it in a box with no padding
whatsoever and shipping it to me. It arrived, sans pedals, with a destroyed
front tire and a severely scraped up frame. A few tears (Hey. It’s
my baby…) and a couple of violent verbal explosions later, they
paid to make it right, including new pedals, a new tire and a brand
new paint job by Trek in Brilliant Blue.
It was about then that Bill started dragging me up to the mountains
to start doing these epic mountain bike rides that took most of Saturday
to complete. I suppose it was only right, since my longest mountain
bike
ride to date had been around 27 miles. Even on the rode I’d
never gone beyond 40 miles. And the race called for 50. Hmm.
In addition I began to look at the mandatory gear list. Every adventure
race has a list of gear that must be carried at all times by each individual.
Stuff like hat, gloves, first aid kit, headlight, liquid, flare, compass
etc. Most of it I had, but I stared for hours at that list trying to
determine what else I would need. Bill, who had done a few of these
before, helped by supplying his general gear list and what he had.
I started
to think about the significance of what I was about to try.
Most people, when they decide they want to do an adventure race,
pick something like the Hi-Tec race series, races of about 4-6 hours.
And
they occur during the middle of summer. Naturally I couldn’t
be that plain. I had to pick the one that was 100 miles. In the middle
of
winter. In the mountains. For 30 hours.
We also needed a third teammate. Bill’s initial choice was a woman
named Denise Dillon, a very good athlete and an anchor on CNN Headline
News. I explained to Bill that I really didn’t care much who
the third was. Secretly this was because I was too terrified of what
I was
about to attempt. I simply did not want to be the weak link.
Somewhere along the way an interesting thing happened on the way
to NGAR. In December it became apparent that Denise wouldn’t be able to do
the race with us. And suddenly we were without any prospects for a teammate.
With the race a mere month away, our fearless leader Bill was a bit concerned
and set about finding one. Once again I left it up to him since I was
busy moving and he was the captain. After all, I’m a pretty
diplomatic guy. I get along with everyone, right?
It happened on a Wednesday.
I had taken the day off to work on packing and rest from back to
back 13-hour days at work. I awoke to a voicemail from Bill asking
me what
I thought of our new potential teammate. I decided to wait and read
the emails he said he’d left later, instead going for a bike
ride and taking a long hot shower.
It was a little after 11:AM when I finally read the email that said
Bill wanted Anne Wilson to be our teammate.
Yeah. That Anne Wilson.
I’m absolutely certain that when God is in the mood for a soap
opera, he tunes in to my life.
I called and left a message on his machine that vaguely sounded like – “Are
you out of your mind?!?” And in a conversation later I told
him I needed to think about it over the weekend. So think on it I
did, and
in the end could I ever turn down a challenge?
The team was set. Bill, my ex-girlfriend and me. 30 hours. I believe
my best friend’s exact words were “Are you out of your f*$#in’ mind?” He
might have had a point.
Christmas came and went. I’d love to tell you I was training everyday
for four hours per day, but it’s just not true. It was the off-season
and I just wasn’t motivated enough to do that. I ran a couple
of times a week and bike a couple as well. And on the weekends went
up to
examine the land that was going to be my enemy for 30 hours.
Two weeks before the race I biked 48 miles in the mountains. It took
us a mere 4.5 hours and I was hurting, but now I knew I could do it.
I stared at the gear list every night, trying to figure out what else
could give me an edge and get me through.
The gravity started to sink in. There were thousands of things to consider.
The race would start at 5:AM on Saturday and end at 11:AM on Sunday.
That meant the beginning of the race would be in the dark. And we would
have to make it through the entire next night as well. That meant lights
on the bike and our heads. It also meant lower temperatures. And then
there was the issue of food.
A week before the race we met as a team for the first time. At Anne’s
apartment. It was awkward, walking into a room that I swore I would
never return to.
Want to make God laugh? Make plans.
And walk into it I did. And even sat down. We went over the gear list
and made sure we had everything. Then it was off to Yellow River trail
that evening to test our bike lighting systems.
It was one of the wildest things I’ve ever done. Imagine being in
a forest and it’s pitch black out. Most of you have read my sagas
and know what kind of trails I ride on. Imagine being on a narrow trail
at night, with a light attached to the front of your bike. We’re
not talking halogen car lights here. We’re talking a simple 5-watt
bulb. You ride like hell into the night. Your depth perception is minimal.
With only one light there are all kinds of shadows. You can’t see
beyond that log you’re about to jump so your heartbeat races a bit
as you go over it, hoping that there’s not a pit with spikes on
the other side. You get ahead of the other riders and coast, turning
off your light as you cruise to a stop. Turn on the LED light attached
to your forehead. It’s so cold out your breath billows out of
your mouth in clouds, reflecting in the light like driving through
fog. Turn
off the headlight and stand in the darkness in silence as you watch
the distant lights of your teammates ride up the hill toward you.
And then do it all again and again.
I liked night biking.
My friend Kylie has been trying to get me to do a 24-hour mountain
bike race with her. The race series is called the 24 hours of Adrenalin.
I’m
sold Kylie. Name the time and place.
Next concern? Food. The estimate was 12,000 calories for 30 hours.
Now let’s think about this. Twelve thousand calories. The average male
needs 2500 per day. I usually consume around 4000 a day. That’s
breakfast, lunch and dinner along with my Dunkin donut and hot chocolate.
And now I had to plan on how to fit this into my pack and carry along
for the ride. 12,000. That’s 24 Big Macs. 150 servings of PowerAde.
700 Triscuits. Hmm. Maybe I’m on to something. Jenny Craig’s
got nothing on me…
Let’s see. What else? Paddling… Winter… I can’t tell
you how much I thought about this. My biggest concern by far was to stay
dry. Get wet in the winter and things kind of get serious. It says so
on page 42 of the Stic Harris’ Manual to Survival When You Fall
Through the Ice While Skating. We were required to carry waterproof jacket
and pants. But I still hadn’t decided what to wear on my feet or
hands. And although I never wear anything on my head, despite wind chills
of 30 below up north, I was reconsidering. I solved my hand issues the
Wednesday night before by blowing my budget on a pair of Gore-Tex, windproof,
waterproof insulated gloves. The cuffs were extra long and could tighten
around the sleeves of my jacket. Bill picked up a fleece-lined, full
head balaclava that decided the head issues. That left the feet. I had
to wear my bike shoes while biking and was leaning heavily towards wearing
my broken-in Nike ACG hiking boots on the hike, but the paddle still
scared the hell out of me. In the end a friend of mine made part of the
decision for me by deciding to sponsor my feet. She bought me a pair
of Sealskinz socks – waterproof socks and had them hold them
for me at REI. I decided to wear my hiking boots on the paddle as
well, and
as an extra precaution I bought the thickest garbage bags I could
find and a roll of duct tape. I would bag each foot and duct tape
it to my
pants. Melissa and Joan Rivers would be upset, but short of a major
spill, I would be dry.
That left the weather. And as the race approached, that became a
big issue. The south has begun to get very cold and weather people
everywhere
were saying that this would be the coldest period in recent history.
Along about Tuesday the interesting news came – a huge storm
was expected to rake across the northern part of the state.
Wednesday I called my dad to talk about something and the race came
up. He asked a very interesting question. “Why?” I sat at my desk
in silence. I actually know the answer to that question. I just didn’t
feel like trying to explain it. But I guess to be fair I will now. Why?
Why would I subject my body to forces of nature? Why mountain bike up
and down mountains, run until I’m close to (or in the middle of)
nausea? Why bike into trees, trip over roots, smash into rocks, bruise
my body beyond recognition? Why work out everyday for hours on end? Those
of you who also participate in this kind of insanity I’m sure
have your own answer, your own reasons.
I was amazed a few years ago when I was talking to someone about running
and why I did that. They were quick to point out how it gave them a
sense of balance, how it made them feel better, how it gave them time
to think
about things. My reasons were none of those.
I ran track because I won. And I loved winning. I loved winning almost
as much as I hate losing. In high school and college I didn’t
know anything more than that. But once I started doing triathlons
I realized
that there was something else.
When I race I’m in pain. It’s pretty universal. I always race
faster than I ever train. When I race I don’t think about anything.
I don’t think about the lead grant that’s due soon. I don’t
think about my shattered heart. About the Sabre’s ownership problems,
about Iraq, or whether or not I should get an MD. I don’t think
about Olivia. Or Anne. Or Des. I don’t worry about my parents getting
older or my sister being so far ahead of me in the game of life. No thoughts
about friends who are gone, about betrayals, money, my beat-up car or
my messy apartment. I reach no conclusions, I make no plans, I give no
concessions. The mind that often never seems to sit still becomes silent.
The only thing I focus on is who’s ahead of me and what do I need
to do to pass them. And I absolutely, positively love that moment. I
can simply focus on the pain that’s physical and the rest doesn’t
even exist. Does that make me insane, certifiable, or crazy? Maybe.
But then what would you do for peace?
Thursday at work I sat at my desk and looked out the window as it rolled
in. The rush in Atlanta area grocery stores was on to stock up on milk
and bread for their annual inch of snow. But up north in the mountains
it was much more interesting. The race message board stated that there
was five inches down and it was still coming. And the temperature was
dropping.
For the first time in my racing history I gave serious thought to the
emergency contact section of the application. I chose three different
people (Thank you Ken, Ratcliffs and Bombards) and made sure they knew
where to send the body.
People began to stop by and offer good luck. At least it was sort of
good luck. The secretary of Environmental simply asked if she could
have my Palm Pilot. A biking buddy asked if he could have my bike light.
I called home to talk to my parents. My parents concern was rather
obvious. But by far the best part was my father saying, “you know it’s
okay not to finish.” That made me giggle.
I went home that night and started packing my stuff, going over the
list again and again. The temp was still dropping when I went to bed,
intent
on making the most of my last full night of sleep for three days.
The next morning I was up and finishing the pack job I had started
the night before. A quick check of the weather said that the next
two nights
were expected to break low temp records. I loaded the bike and gear
and I was off to meet my teammates at a Wafflehouse north of Atlanta.
We
met at 1:PM and then drove up to check into our hotel and have the
gear check that afternoon, where they make certain you have all the
mandatory
gear to compete in the race. I pulled in to the Wafflehouse next
to Anne’s
car. We rolled down our windows.
“
There’s still time for us to change our minds,” she said.
“
Don’t tempt me.” But there really wasn’t a chance
in hell I was going to walk away from this.
100 miles. You could walk from Buffalo to either Rochester or Toronto.
From New York to Philly. From Austin to San Antonio. From Ann Arbor
to Kalamazoo. From Atlanta to either Athens or Macon. None of those
is over
100 miles.
Now do it in the middle of winter.
In the mountains.
I stepped out of my car at the Suches school into 5 inches of white
fluffy snow. The temp was in the upper teens according to the new
REI thermometer
I had hanging from my coat. I couldn’t resist. I felt an extreme
need to figure out how cold it was when your eyelids started to freeze
together. The gear check was in the gym. 10 stations where they ask for
something and you better have it. We got our emergency radio. Get in
a jam (e.g. Fall overboard) and you could radio for help, but use of
the radio was grounds for instant disqualification. We would also be
carrying a GPS unit, which tracked our movement every 10 seconds, though
it was only downloaded after each leg of the race. We also got our race
T-shirts – long sleeve. No swim caps this time…
I looked around at the people in this gym in the middle of nowhere.
Our team name was Team Xterra, after the fact that all three of us
competed in the series and Bill and I were Regional Champs. We even
wore our jerseys.
This apparently caused quite a stir. The biggest rumor flying around
the transition camp the next day was about a pro team that had shown
up and was going to walk all over the competition. They were even ‘sponsored’ by
Nissan (the sponsor of Xterra). Once Alisa figured out they were actually
talking about us, she had a good laugh. And from what Alisa also said,
my bike attracted quite a bit of attention, perhaps because of it’s
one of a kind custom paint job.
A team photo was also on the agenda. Then we had two hours to kill
before the pre-race briefing. Off we went to a neighboring town for
food – Italian.
Anne drove. I asked her not to crash this time.
There wasn’t much we didn’t already know at the briefing.
Chris, a local whom I had biked with before, got up and discussed
the hazards
of cold and hypothermia.
Questions were asked and answered. Glances were
made around the room, some nervous, some more confident. Bill, naturally,
knew everyone. Everyone said hello to him, wished him luck. I thought
once more how I hoped I wasn’t the weak link. How I could not
let my team down.
The race briefing ended and we all caravanned back to the nearest hotels
in Dahlonega - 16 miles away. I stopped at Wal-Mart and bought more
food. And an extra pair of wool socks. The lines were insane. Wal-Mart
did
more business that weekend than the whole rest of the month combined,
easy. Then back to the hotel to repack everything and organize.
Alisa needed to know exactly what we were planning and when. She
was as organized as a drill sergeant. Everything had to then be packed
into her 4-wheel drive Saturn Vue which already had a canoe on top
and three
bikes attached to the back hitch. Bedtime was 11. Alarms were set
for
3:30 AM. Lights were out and Bill was softly snoring. I was wide-awake
wondering as usual what the hell I’d gotten myself into…
I had actually thought about doing one of these adventure race thingies
for quite a while. I used to sit and watch the Eco-Challenge on TV,
knowing inside that I could do that. I tend to be somewhat athletically
talented.
I have a will power that is pretty much unchallenged. I go like the
Energizer bunny. And I even am on the higher side of the intelligence
scale.
But the complicating factor every time I thought about it was the
whole team thing. It may be selfish, but I have never wanted to rely
on anybody
else. Even in hockey I was a goaltender. I just went out and did
my job. If the rest of the team couldn’t score goals, that was
their problem. And triathlons are just me against the world.
Now I had two teammates that were relying on me and that I would need
to rely on. The former was fine. I have no problem with people relying
on me. But the latter was bugging the hell out of me. I wanted to believe
that I was an autonomous juggernaut that needed nobody and nothing
to go the distance. I would often look for adventure races with a solo
division,
just to eliminate the need for a team.
I glanced over at Bill, wondering what he was dreaming about. Certainly
it wasn’t calves the size of my body or mountains that were
laughing at him. He actually looked peaceful. Rat bastard…
I rolled over, closed my eyes and tried not to think.
Alarms should not be allowed to go off at 3:30 AM. As a public health
professional, I see it as a medical hazard. Naturally Bill was up and
getting dressed. I threw a pillow over my head and tried not to think
about all the bad things that I could and should have been thinking
about. I was actually considering telling him that I was withdrawing
when he
pulled an extremely dirty trick.
I heard hockey on the TV.
I had to look. And after I looked I had to figure out what they were
talking about. And after I figured out what they were talking about
I was hooked and wanted to know more. Irritation grew when I realized
I
was actually sitting up in bed.
Damn it.
The hockey show ended. We switched to the Weather channel. My jaw
dropped. They were showing a map of the entire United States with
the associated
current temperatures. And where was the current temp the lowest?
Let’s
see. Fairbanks, Alaska? Nope. International Falls, Minnesota? Nope.
Buffalo? Maine? Neither.
North Georgia.
God must have been tuning in.
I got dressed. Layers. Lots of them. Bike shorts. Long underwear. Running
tights. Nylon wind pants. Sealskinz, wool socks. A running shirt, a
T-shirt a long sleeve shirt, a fleece, another fleece. I could outfit
a family
of four. I walked outside.
Holy shit…
I don’t actually admit to being cold very often. I’m from
Buffalo, NY. The 5 inches of snow on the ground in North Georgia
was the equivalent
of a hard frost in Buffalo.
I walked back inside to find more clothes.
We packed the SUV and left for Suches. I rode with Anne, since the
Saturn was too filled with gear. I was pretty quiet. And it was very,
very cold.
I thought about people I knew. In England friends of mine were just
getting out of bed. In California, they were just going to bed. And
nowhere in
the US was it as cold as where I was.
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. This was why I moved from Texas, right? I missed
the seasons…
We got to the school and parked. At 5:AM the race directors would release
the maps and checkpoint locations to our support person. And the race
would begin. We had no idea which direction we were going, what discipline
we would be doing or how long we would be doing it. There was nothing
to do but sit. And try to stay warm.
Alisa went down to the pavilion to retrieve the map.
Sit and stay warm.
You could see it when they released the support crews. There was
a mad rush to get back to the teams. Alisa came running up the hill,
map rolls
in hand and GPS unit in tow. She got in the SUV with Bill and he
started
to pour over the maps. He was our navigator. He knew the area better
than most of the teams and he would be plotting our course. The same
was happening all over the parking lot, as teams tried to figure
out just where they were going. After all, while speed is crucial,
it’s
worthless if you’re headed in the wrong direction.
I watched him out the window of Anne’s car. He had on reading
glass and was completely serious. He suddenly reminded me of my father,
at
least until I quickly remembered that it was 5:AM on top of a mountain.
That similarity quickly faded. I got out and braved the cold to find
out what we were starting with.
45 miles of biking.
Ouch. I had really hoped that the individual disciplines would be
broken up. That is, instead of a 25 mile run – a 10 and a 15. Instead of
a 60 mile bike – three of 20 miles. Maybe it’s just me
but that gives me the impression that my muscles can take more of
a break.
But no, we were doing the vast majority of the bike right off the
bat. I returned to the car and started packing food into my backpack.
I
figured we’d be on the bike between 6 and 8 hours. I packed 10 hours of
food, just in case and quickly returned to the car to put on my biking
cleats. Another trip outside to put on my bike’s headlight and
backup light. On the way back to the car I glanced at the interior
of the Saturn.
There was a console just above the rearview mirror. On it was the
temperature. I swallowed hard.
-3.
Minus three degrees Fahrenheit…
I tried to convert that to Kelvin to make it a positive number, but
my brain wouldn’t get past the minus sign…
Bill got out of the SUV. Game time. We were off. The time was pushing
6:AM. It was still pitch black outside. Several teams had left before
us, but the vast majority were still huddled in their vehicles. We
took off down the road as Bill quickly outlined our path.
I gazed up at the setting moon and howled. We were on our way.
Our path was set. 45 miles of biking, 20 miles of paddling, a 25-mile
trek and then a 15-mile bike to finish up. I quickly started bitching
that I had only signed up for 100 miles and that totaled 105. I figured
I might as well start complaining now. I also explained to Bill that
he needed to turn up the general thermostat as well.
“
This is adventure racing!” he replied.
We rode down the road out of Suches. There were patches of ice
and snow all over the road, requiring concentration as we passed
by them. A mile
and a half down the highway we turned off onto a forest service road
that was nothing but snow and ice. My eyes teared as we went faster.
Since I was wearing a full head mask I couldn’t fit my clear sunglasses
on to block the wind. I thought about complaining about that but stopped
short, there’d be plenty of time for that later.
Miles past and we approached our first checkpoint. There were 17 in
all. We got to the first one by taking a turn off of the forest service
road
we were on and taking a side path a mile or so down a hill. When we
got to the bottom there was a fire and three volunteers waiting for
us. We
paused and warmed our toes in the fire. Yeah, In the fire. I was thoroughly
amused to see Bill’s cleats smoking. The volunteers signed our passport
(a laminated card used to keep track of the checkpoints we’d visited)
and we were off back up the hill. Looking back over my shoulder I could
see twilight beginning in the east. Dawn was coming, and it made me laugh
when I thought about the fact that when the sun rose the next day, we’d
still be going at it.
As we approached the main FS road, Bill called up for us to douse our
lights. We could hear other teams passing by on the main road. We quietly
crept up to the main road. After all, we sure as hell didn’t want
to let others know where the checkpoint was. This was a competition.
Nevertheless two teams saw us as we rounded the corner back onto the
FS road. At Checkpoint #1 we were in 8th place. Not bad. But there
were a ton of teams hot on our heals.
We rode on. I have to admit I wanted to quicken the pace, but this
was a team sport. We started to pass teams that had missed the turnoff
and
were now headed back. I tried not to smirk. The sun was rising and
it was getting warmer.
We stopped and tried to get some water. All of us had Camelback-type
bladders in our backpacks with tubes leading around to bite valves
that we could drink out of. I had made certain that I blew the water
back
up into the bag and out of the tube. Bill had not. His tube had frozen
solid. I offered him some of mine. At our next stop the small bit of
water that had remained in the valve had frozen and mine was useless
as well. This ended up being solved by shoving the entire tube down
the back of our shirts.
The morning went by, and we kept pedaling. Anne started having a problem
keeping her toes warm. We stopped and she would take her shoes off
to warm them and then we’d continue. There was talk about if they got
too cold we’d need to put her toes in either Bill or my armpits.
I looked at her. I was really glad Bill was the captain. That made
her toe warmth his responsibility.
By now we were on a trail that had only had limited travel. The snow
was fresh, making it that much harder to bike through. It was physically
exhausting; like biking through sand, an endless attempt to not fishtail
and maintain traction while going up and down mountains. And it was
mentally tiring as well; solid concentration on the terrain in front
of you. If
you rode over a rut, you fell. If you hit a patch of ice, the same
result would occur. Downhills would be done with one pedal unclipped
and the
plastic sole of my shoe on the solid ice as a third wheel.
At some point we broke for a late breakfast - a PowerBar and trail
mix washed down with water. We arrived at a junction. There were tracks
in
two different directions. We stopped to consult the maps. We were with
another team now. I had biked with their captain before. Her name was
Erica. She was an Army major and an accomplished adventure racer. She
also had a broken bone in her foot.
Erica argued that the path to the left was cheating and that we had
to take the one leading up the hill to the right. Bill wasn’t as sure.
Neither was I. In the end we headed up the hill. 45 minutes later we
were in the middle of nowhere. Or since the entire race was in the middle
of nowhere, we were in the middle of nowhere IN the middle of nowhere.
And there was just our team, Erica’s and another team that had
followed us. Big mistake.
It’s not that we were lost exactly. It’s simply that we hadn’t
taken the quickest route.
A half an hour later we were even more in the middle of nowhere in
a gully following a streambed in the direction we thought was the right
one. An hour later we were bushwhacking through foot deep snow, lugging
our bikes behind us. Bill and I conferred. We should have gone to the
left. Hindsight is 20/20. But we should have followed our gut instinct.
Even pros can be wrong. We crossed over a stream using a wide fallen
log covered in snow and finally found a trail. From there we raced
on.
But our adventure was just getting started. We came to another stream,
this one about 15 feet wide and moving rather quickly. In the summer
we simply would have ridden through it. The problem was that there
was unbreakable ice within three feet of either shore. Any attempt
to ride
would be a invitation to get wet. Luther, a member of Erica’s team
solved the issue by riding back to an old campground and finding planks
of wood. We built our own bridge, but were still short. We found an old
table with folding legs. We threw that against the far shore leaving
a 2-foot gap to jump. Luther and I went over and then one by one we handed
the bikes across. Then the humans. The tabletop was slippery as ice,
particularly in cycling shoes, but nine humans made it across with only
Erica’s ankle getting splashed. I was impressed. I wanted to pull
the bridge back over to our side so that others couldn’t follow,
but I was overruled. We kept going.
We finally arrived at Checkpoint #2. Dozens of teams were huddled around
the fire and downing provided bottles of water. We were now 55th. I
was not happy, nor was Bill. We’d screwed up. We ate more food
and Anne again warmed her toes by the fire. Bill and I decided her
new name was
Twinkle Toes. Two down, 15 to go.
It was now all FS roads to Checkpoint #3. This leg was rather quick.
But the checkpoint wasn’t manned. No more fire to warm the body
and mind, just a quick hike up to a punch that you used on your passport
with a certain sequence of spikes that showed you had been there. Then
it was on to #4.
But on the FS road after #3 life started to get interesting. I was
starting to feel lightheaded. I knew I wasn’t dehydrated, which meant the
only other possibility was food. I rummaged through my pack, scrounging
for whatever was left. I was craving salt, and Anne gave me some salted
crackers with peanut butter in them. I inhaled them and we set off again,
but in the back of my mind I was slightly worried. I knew we still had
a good ways to go. It was around 3:PM. We’d been at it for 9 hours.
I was already beyond my expectation and rapidly approaching my limit
for food.
A short while later the Forest Service road turned into narrow single
track. The food I had recently eaten was doing its job and I was now
on what I loved most. I tore off along the trail only to realize after
a couple of miles that I was all alone. I would stop and wait, sipping
water and listening to the silence of the forest. Then Bill would come
rolling along and I was off again. I was actually having a blast. The
scenery was beautiful. And I was feeling better.
Bill approached and I started off again. I headed down a rather steep
hill with a curve at the bottom. As I turned I had just enough time
to yell “Roots!!!” Not enough time to avoid them. There lay a
pair of large tree roots across the trail. Naturally they weren’t
perpendicular, which would have been easy to roll over. No. These were
diagonally across. I had just enough time to lift the front of my bike
over the first. Unfortunately the front wheel hit the second just as
rear wheel hit the first. Both slid wrenching the bike out from under
me and throwing me at the ground with some pretty nasty force. I slammed
on the second root and nailed my collarbone with a small tree. Bill
pulled up asking if I was okay. I could see he was pretty concerned
and I held
up one finger for him to wait.
When I was a kid growing up I used to regularly get the wind knocked
out of me. I still remember what that felt like the first time. The
inability to breathe was so frightening; I was positive I was going
to die. But
as it happened time after time I started to realize that it merely
took a bit of time and I would be fine. I used to amaze my friends
and adults
alike because despite the fact that I couldn’t breathe, I would
calmly hold up a finger for them to wait a minute.
Breath. Gulp in the air.
Repeat.
Back on the bike. I would not slow us down. We were off again.
Checkpoint #4 was another unmanned punch. We had caught up to another
couple of teams and briefly passed them, but the passed us back. I
asked Bill where he thought we were, saying that I figured we were
in the low
40s. He shook his head.
“
Nope. If anything I think we’re higher than we were.”
I could hear the disappointment in his voice. I was letting him down
and I didn’t like it much.
We came to a deep, swift-moving stream. There was a pair of large logs
crossing some six feet above the water. I carefully walked across one
step at a time carrying my bike. No easy feat in plastic-soled cycling
shoes. I dumped my bike and went back to see what assistance I could
offer the others. One by one they came across. Bill first. Then each
member of Erica’s team, who had caught up to us. And then Anne.
One misstep would have meant the race was basically over. But all made
it across and we continued.
The single track ended. It was back on FS roads.
It’s here that things start to get fuzzy. I had started to get
lightheaded again. And this time I knew what it meant. I started asking
Bill how
far away we were. I felt like a kid in the back seat of the car.
“
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” But in truth all I wanted
was food.
We rode into Checkpoint #5, another fire containing, manned checkpoint.
A very quick stop allowed us to bypass several teams and we were on
our way.
Unconsciously I had increased the pace. I was concerned that I was
getting lightheaded. And this time I had no more food. And right before
the checkpoint
I had run out of water. The sun was setting and darkness was quickly
approaching. The bike that was supposed to take only 6-8 hours wasn’t
yet over and we had been going for 11 hours.
On a cheerier note we had gotten word that the paddling section of
the race had been cancelled. The lake was frozen over.
How convenient. But the fact remained that we were only about halfway
through the race.
I was starting to struggle. I was basically in deep shit and I was
very aware of it. The only continuous thought in my head was that somewhere
out there Alisa was waiting for us with food.
It was getting colder as well, though I’m not certain if that
was from lack of fuel or simply the sun going down.
Darkness. The bike lights were turned back on. What I had thought about
earlier had come to pass. We had spent the entire day on our bikes.
We had watched the sun rise and set and we would be watching the sun
rise
again. And we were still racing. I had a quick laugh as I realized
that in the time I had been competing that day I could have done three
Tahoe
races.
We came to a T in the road and I stopped. Te others came up behind
and Bill told us we had a choice. There was a shortcut to the left,
but it
had hills. But then it was all on paved road. We chose that direction.
Checkpoint #6 was the first transition area. Originally it was where
we were supposed to get the canoe and begin our paddle. Now it was
the start of the 25-mile trek. But more importantly it was where our
support
crews had been patiently waiting all day long. Food. Warm solid food.
PowerAde. Water.
The hills were absolute mountains. I hated Bill then. I’d actually
like to go back and see how bad they actually were. I had to dismount
my bike and walk one. The fuel was running out. I was “bonking” in
a major way. And in the process I was absolutely livid with my body for
doing this to me. We reached the turnoff for the road that went up to
the Turkey Farm – Checkpoint #6. It was uphill, not staggering,
but nevertheless I had to walk.
Food.
Vehicles passed by. Other teams leaving or there support heading for
the next transition area. Almost everyone would offer words of encouragement.
“
Good job,” “Keep it up, you’re almost there!”
Filthy liars.
At least seven people told me that the camp was a _ mile ahead. The
only problem with that was that the various teams that told me that
were strewn
over the course of 45 minutes.
Bill walked next to me. He was worried. I had been walking in the dark.
Not so much because I was stupid as simply conserving battery power.
Somewhere in the head of mine I was already moving on to the next stage
and what we needed there. He took out his headlight, turned it on and
put it on my head. I didn’t have the energy to argue.
I reached the apex of the hill. Bill mentioned something about seeing
the lights from the campsite. I looked but saw nothing. I could no
longer think straight.
One foot. Another. Repeat.
Food.
At one point on the climb uphill I remember stopping in my tracks.
I was furious with the race directors. My exact thoughts were that
they
had not put an escalator on this trail and I was pissed! What had they
been thinking?
It’s annoying that I don’t remember getting to the transition
area. It was supposed to be a joyous time of relief and accomplishment.
The next thing I know I was sitting in front of a campfire. I had a
bowl of pasta in my hand but no utensils. Damned if that was going
to stop
me. I ate like a dog. Alisa brought a fork. Yeah. Whatever. One bowl.
Two bowls. Three bowls. Oh yeah, water. A fourth bowl. That was singularly
the best pasta ever in the history of the universe. One thing I do
remember is that I Swear Alisa had wings and a halo…
I looked around the area. There were fires all over, a few teams were
there resting. Occasionally a team would head out on their trek and
the whole place would whoop and holler. We were now 38th.
I went to the running SUV and sat inside to warm up. The wind had started
blowing with the sun setting and it was very cold again. My plan was
to warm up, allow some food to empty out of my stomach and then fill
it up again. I was good to go. 25 miles of hiking, dead ahead. This
was doable. I fell asleep instantly.
I awoke a little while later when Bill opened the door. He said that
we had to break camp. I was confused. “We have to help Alisa break
camp Before we head out on the hike?”
“
Nope. We’re done. We’re calling it quits.”
“…”
WHAT!?!?!?!? I had never quit a race in my entire lifetime. I have
finished races on broken legs. I have thrown up through races. I’ve
pulled muscles while racing. But I finished them all.
Team sport.
Damn.
We broke camp and packed the car. Our race was over at the 16-hour
mark.
We crammed our stuff and our bodies into the SUV and drove back to
the Suches school, where Anne’s car was waiting. From there we
went back to the hotel and I got my car.
I drove the two-hour journey home, thinking the whole way that out
in the night there were people still racing.
Damn.
I called my parents, who answered just about instantly and were obviously
glad to hear their son wasn’t an ice cube at the bottom of some
lake. They wanted to talk about it and had a million questions. I begged
them off and said we’d talk the next day. I went home and hugged
my cat for a very long time.
I didn’t go right to sleep. I’d been going and going and going
and now my body wasn’t ready to stop. So I sat there thinking
instead. My natural downfall.
I’m absolutely positively certain I could have completed the trek.
Nary a doubt in my mind. The last bike would have been tough. Get back
on a bike at 5:AM and finish the last bit. A snowstorm blew in around
2 that next morning, which would have covered the ice with a blanket
of white. I’m not saying I couldn’t have done it. Merely
acknowledging it would have been hard.
Eight teams finished in the allotted time. Eight teams out of 83. I
wanted so badly to be one of them. The next morning I was reading the
results
and burst into tears because I wasn’t part of them. Naturally I
was beating myself up about how much of a role my “walking zombie” state
had contributed to Bill’s decision. He doesn’t know me well
enough to know that I would have been fine. And surely safety was one
of his primary concerns.
Damn.
It’s being called one of the most brutal races ever in Georgia.
I like that. I’d like it more if I had finished. But regardless,
I agree. It was pretty tough.
The winners were a pair of Army Rangers and a woman that I swear isn’t
human. The Rangers aren’t even normal Rangers; they were the winners
of the “Best Ranger” competition. The Rangiest Rangers. Sound
like my kind of people. They took close to 25 hours. Five hours longer
than expected.
I thought about what I was going to do now. My last two races have
been less than stellar. Xterra season is almost upon me and I have
a title
to defend again. And somewhere out in Nevada there’s a mountain
that’s still laughing at me. But the only way to the World Championship
is over that mountain.
And what about adventure racing? Is it in my future? To be honest I
think I could be really good at this thing. And I never said that about
triathlons.
We’ll see. And you know what? It was fun…
I finally lay down to sleep and was out instantly; for fourteen hours.
The phone rang the next day. It was Bill.
“ Wanna go for a bike ride?”
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